


Funny All the Time

by stolenfaye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Implied Angelina/Fred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolenfaye/pseuds/stolenfaye
Summary: Fred's busy and the Gryffindor quidditch gang gets back together without him. Suddenly it's painfully obvious who the extroverted twin is. "So how can Fred have turned you down if I'm still here?"





	Funny All the Time

“Verity Thistlewine?” Angelina scoffed, trying to keep her tone light. “For him?”  


She sat in the Three Broomsticks with Alicia Spinnet and George Weasley, who had just passed along Fred’s reason for missing out on the small reunion. The younger twin looked embarrassed to say it, but his eyes seemed to twinkle nonetheless.  


Angelina couldn’t scrounge up the same sense of humor. She hadn’t dated Fred Weasley in years, of course. But he’d been her close friend, and if not her, well… She felt that he should at least pursue someone really good!  


George, on the other hand, shrugged. “She’s a hard worker, punctual.” He gave a small snigger. “I think he likes that she calls him ‘Mr. Weasley.’”  


“Ugh!” Angelina screwed up her face and pushed George’s shoulder amiably.  


“Well,” he went on, “She calls me that, too, of course…”  


“That’s rank. Sod off!”  


Alicia giggled. “Is it weird without your twin, George?” she asked.  


His face slipped into something deadpan. “Believe it or not, oh fair one, we are not actually joined at the hip.”  


“That’s hard to believe,” muttered Angelina, to Alicia’s delight.  


The evening passed with more banter, like it had in the old days in Gryffindor tower. Though she teased all of her friends, Angelina was loyal, and only spent her time with people she felt were worthy. It was truly refreshing to sit back with old school friends and be herself, instead of bearing silently with the company of more boring coworkers. Finally Alicia got to her feet. “Sorry, dearies. I’ve got flowers to sell tomorrow, bright and early.”  


“Are Saturdays really popular days for florists?” George asked, smirking.  


“You wouldn’t believe,” Alicia returned, wide-eyed as though she barely believed it, herself. “All the men who forget birthdays and holidays, and all of the school dances and dates on Saturdays.” She let out a sigh. “Honking daffodils are among the most popular. I go to bed and dream of that noise.”  


“By the way, I ought to order more of those—“ George started, pulling a checkbook from his breast pocket of his robes. They were fine, satiny things, usually of rich plum or green colors. Though, if Angelina had to guess, she thought that midnight blue suited George best, as he was wearing now. How strange to see him with money, after all these years… But Alicia waved him away.  


“Fred already placed an order as of yesterday. I’ll be sure to save you loads.” Alicia bit back a yawn. “Night, all.”  


“Night,” they answered. George turned back to Angelina, who was watching Butterbeer swirl at the bottom of her bottle. “So,” he said, in a somewhat serious voice unique to George, “Got a problem with Miss Thistlewine?” Despite the tone, his signature smirk played around his lips. Those eyes kept twinkling. She loved him, she thought, barely aware of what her brain was saying.  


“No!” Angelina huffed, giving herself away utterly. George gave a bright laugh, and she said, “Alright, alright. It’s weird; I don’t have a thing for Fred anymore, but I think she’s just…she’s just so plain…”  


“Compared to you?” he said perceptively. He always read her like a book.  


Angelina pursed her lips, but the word burst forth anyway, “Yes! Merlin’s beard, it’s like getting turned down on a date for a wallflower bookworm.”  


“I’ll have you know, I’ve met a few charming bookworms,” George said in that serious voice. Angelina frowned; his voice was strangely low and quiet. She liked the husky quality it had taken on.  


“Don’t worry,” she muttered. “I think Hermione Granger is a lovely girl.” They both chuckled, tight sounds.  


“So, how can Fred have turned you down on a date if I’m still here?” he asked conversationally. Angelina stared at him, trying to figure out what he was getting at as he continued, “I mean, it’s as though he’s here right now. He’s left his doppelganger.”  


“Stop that,” she said. She swigged the last of the Butterbeer. “You’re not a doppelganger.”  


“Just a joke!” George said, putting up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No harm in it, Angie.”  


But she pouted back to him, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “You know you’re not just a replica of him, right?”  


“Cor, way to make it awkward,” George muttered, looking irritated now.  


Angelina looked at him, thinking how she couldn’t take it back now. “Sounds like I’ve touched on a nerve.”  


He waved it off. “If you don’t want to date me, Angelina, all you had to do was—“  


“Wait,” Angelina snorted, “what?”  


“All you had to do was say so,” George finished, giving her an expectant smile. When she didn’t respond, still staring at him, he waved his hands as if expecting her to answer. “You know, because you’re unhappy to be here…and I’m Fred’s replacement.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Look, it’s hard to always be funny—"  


“Let’s go back to my place.”  


Angelina tried not to let the shock take over her face. George certainly didn’t; he was goggling, open-mouthed at her. It took him a second or two, and then he said lowly, “Angie, I’m not that kind of girl.”  


Just like that, the tension broke. Angelina burst out laughing, and George joined in. As they were sighing and catching their breath, Angelina reached into her purse for the sickles to pay, but George was already laying down a Galleon. Tom the barman grinned at him with those unnerving gums, and George got to his feet. Angie followed, and comfortably took his proffered arm.  


They made a funny pair: the Weasley with a good deal of pomp to his walk, and the stately young Johnson woman marching at his side. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. She led him to her apartment, only three blocks from the bar. He turned to face her, as though saying goodbye, but after she waved her wand at the enchantments, she turned and pulled him by the arm into the building behind her, catching George’s face as his cheeks turned scarlet. It was…cute. She wanted to embarrass him even more.  


When they reached her apartment, she unbuttoned her pumpkin-orange cloak and tossed it onto the hanger. She heard George pause behind her, hesitate, pull off his own cloak. Underneath, her dress was like a lot of Angelina’s clothes: designed to show her athletic shoulders and back. She was not disappointed when she heard the quiet intake of breath.  


“Want something to eat?”  


George gave a nervous chuckle, tugging at his tie. “Please, Angie, you know not to give me room for innuendo.”  


Angelina leaned against her kitchen table. The small dining room was cramped, well-lit, full of posters for bands and teams, lots of scarves, and Quidditch boots by the door. “Pshh,” Angelina scoffed, waving her hand. “How could you tell me not to let you make jokes?”  


He took a few steps closer, and the smile was strangely empty on his face. His brown eyes were intense, focused. “Did you invite me up here for jokes?”  


Her breath caught. She’d meant to say something funny, to be kind, to reassure him that he was as much her friend as Fred was— that he was important and special. Now those descriptors were undeniable in the heat in her face, and the freckles that she counted on his face. Up close, she could see teeth marks in his lower lip, and she tried to count the occasions when she had noticed the nervous habit.  


“What was the question again?” she murmured. He smelled like firework smoke and candy.  


He was standing right in front of her, less than a foot away, practically between her legs. But he said, “I don’t think it matters.”  


Fred would’ve done it by now, Angelina thought to herself. But what made George different was that he stood back, analyzed, waited.  


She would cut down on the wait.  


Angelina reached up, cupped George’s face in her hands, and pulled him into a kiss. She felt his hands push into her tabletop, his tongue against her lip. She let him in, pleased and curious about the eagerness she found in his response. He tasted sweet, too.  


When he started to pull away, she pushed forward, licked at his lips, afraid he’d end it. She was pleased to note his hands against her back, pulling her close. When she looked into his face, she saw one of her favorite Weasley smirks looking back at her.  


“Wow, Georgie,” she murmured.  


“Wow, yourself.” He inclined his head against hers. “So what now?”  


“Now,” Angelina said slowly, “Mr. Gryffindor Beater, you show me what you can do with your club.”  


His laugh felt loud, but perfect in her small kitchen. “Oh, you know what I can do with a club.” Perhaps out of habit, he made a gesture that resulted in him grinding against her. He bit his lip, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.  


“Well, let’s see, then.” Angelina pushed against him gently and took his hand, leading him to the sofa.


End file.
